Bath Time
by DanshiDerp
Summary: Waking up after a hard night of drinking is never a pleasant thing to do, but having a nice hot bath can certainly make it easier. MasShar, kinda fluffy.


The first thing Sharrkan is aware of upon waking is the initially dull, then throbbing, headache and parched mouth. The second thing he registers is the pain in his legs and the stiffness of his back. Third and finally, he realises that he is not in his room, and he is not alone.

Ah, that's right.

It had been another night of drinking too much and then being carried back home by Masrur - Sharrkan in his arms, Sinbad on his back, Pisti trotting along beside them in hysterics. An irate Ja'far had taken their poor drunk King into custody the moment they'd arrived home, and Pisti had left them to persue one of her many boyfriends, leaving Masrur in charge of hauling Sharrkan to the nearest bedroom (his) and letting him sleep off the alcohol.

Now, Masrur lays beside him, apparently still sleeping soundly, his left arm tucked under his neck and his right curled around Sharrkan's waist, keeping him close. Despite the circumstances, he looks almost sweet like that with his mouth slightly open and a gentle, rumbling snore issuing from him rhythmically. Sharrkan smiles at him, trying his best to ignore his headache (why had he drank so much?) as he pushes the Fanalist lightly on the shoulder.

"Oi, Mas," he says quietly, giving him another push for good measure, "time to wake up. We need to go have a bath." Judging by the sunlight streaming into the room through the uncovered glassless windows, it's getting on for midday already. Sharrkan lets out a loud groan as he tries to sit up and lurches to the side, catching himself just in time to prevent himself from toppling over. "Oh, _shit_," he hisses to himself, as Masrur hasn't shown any signs of waking yet, "really? I drank _that _much?" He feels at his neck for his chain and finds it gone, along with his connecting earring. Looking up he sees it discarded several feet away, twinkling on the floor in the sunshine, although he has no memory of ever removing it the night before.

He rises awkwardly, arms spread wide to help his balance, and grimaces at the state of the room - his clothes are littered everywhere, strewn over the floor as if he'd ripped them off himself with no regard for Masrur before falling asleep in his bed. The Fanalist's own clothes are neatly piled on a plush chair by the door.

Masrur wakes with a twitch and a grunt just as Sharrkan is braving walking to the bathroom; he watches the naked general walking across his room as if he were balancing on a tight rope, wobbling everywhere and cursing occasionally as he stumbles. Masrur can't help but smile ever so slightly at the sight, thankful that his hangover is nowhere near as bad as his senior's, being nothing more than a mild headache at the moment.

"Morning," he says, kind of enjoying the way Sharrkan nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of his voice, "did you sleep well?"

"No," Sharrkan grumbles, reaching the doorframe of the bathroom and leaning against it heavily, the palm of one hand pressed to his forehead now that he's steady, "not really. I slept right through I think, but it feels like I didn't sleep at all. You?"

Masrur nods, sitting up in his bed. "I slept well," he states, "it was nice holding you."

Sharrkan's cheeks colour a little at this, and he's suddenly made acutely aware of how exposed he is under the bigger man's gaze. "Same to you," he says quietly, fully aware that the Fanalist will hear it regardless. "Didn't expect you to think that, though."

Masrur frowns and doesn't reply, choosing instead to think over the other general's words carefully rather than reacting straight away. Was his constant aloof attitude to the swordsman read as something harsher than friendly banter, as it was always intended to be? He's always thought that their jibes and bickering were well received by both and fully understood to be nothing more than a closer friendship than most.

"Why not?" He asks at length, barely registering how Sharrkan is discreetly trying to hide his navel with his arm now.

Sharrkan shrugs. "Doesn't really seem the kind of thing you'd like," he says in an offhand way, "never thought of you to be a cuddling type of guy."

Of course he wouldn't. No one would.

"I like it," is the simple reply.

Sharrkan smiles at the other man. "Good," he says, rubbing his palm over his forehead harder as his headache threatens to worsen, "I'm glad. Now come on; bath time."

This isn't the first time they've woken up in bed together, not by a long shot; after nights out or even just for the sake of being near someone, the two of them often find themselves falling asleep together, although before now, there's been no contact other than the odd elbow to a face and sharp kicks when one of them snores too loudly.

He turns away from Masrur slowly, continuing his voyage into the en-suite bathroom at a snail's pace as Masrur swings his legs out of bed and stands, pleased to find that his vision doesn't swim and his head doesn't throb with pain upon doing so. He's reminded once again of why he doesn't get as drunk as certain other members of the palace do.

As the sound of Sharrkan turning on the bath taps fills the room, Masrur can't help but feel warm with the knowledge that the other general hadn't taken off upon waking -he is still here, still talking to him normally. It's somewhat of a foreign feeling to him, to have the other man stay long enough for them to talk the next morning, as he usually makes his excuses before leaving in a hurry, while Masrur is barely awake or aware of what's going on. More to the point, he can't actually recall ever waking to find another person in his arms, unless he counts that one time Yamuraiha had fallen asleep crying into his shoulder over yet another failed attempt at getting a boyfriend. She had fallen asleep in his lap and he had consequently nodded off, waking with a start a few hours later to find the magician still there, curled up like a cat and snoring gently against his chest.

Masrur sighs through his nose, following the sounds of the running water into his bathroom to find Sharrkan sitting in the huge tub as it fills slowly, hugging his knees and resting his head atop of them, presumably to nurse his headache. An empty glass on the floor beside the bath indicates Sharrkan's at least drank something before bathing, stopping him from potentially keeling over from dehydration.

Confusion bubbles up in Masrur and he doesn't want to deal with it right now.

So he doesn't.

Instead, he clambers into the bath behind the white haired general, spreading his legs around him and settling his chin on a tanned shoulder. Sharrkan doesn't protest, doesn't even react to the sudden warmth behind him or the weight on his shoulder.

However, he finds he can't ignore the strong arms that encircle his chest from behind.

"What are you doing?" He asks, raising his head from his knees and looking sidelong at his friend.

Masrur hesitates. It should be pretty obvious what he's doing, right? "I'm holding you." He states.

"I know _that_," Sharrkan butts the side of his head into Masrur's lightly, keen to not aggravate his headache further, "I mean _why_? We're not drunk anymore, you know. We don't do this kind of thing sober. Actually, we don't even do it drunk, if my memory's anything to go by."

"Which it isn't."

"Shut up."

He doesn't know _why_, so he doesn't answer straight away, trying to come up with _something _that doesn't make him sound as slow and confused as he's feeling. He can't think of anything past 'his body is so warm' and 'his face is way too close'. Without warning Masrur carefully moves to cup Sharrkan's cheek in his palm, his thumb running over the swell of the plump, tanned skin there as he swallows hard. He shouldn't be doing this, sharing a bath with his best friend where they're naked and touching and now almost embracing, but Sharrkan hasn't exactly told him to get out yet. Plus, he'd said that they needed a bath.

Not his fault that the man didn't specify _not at the same time_.

He pulls away swiftly, the hand that was on Sharrkan's cheek now resting on his shoulder as he averts his gaze from the other man's questioning, (surprisingly) slightly put-out look. "You should turn the taps off," he says, nodding towards the other end of the huge bath, "it's deep enough now. I'll wash your hair for you if you like."

Sharrkan perks up at this. "Really?" He asks, leaning over the side of the tub to grab at the shampoo there before turning off the taps. "I _love _having someone do my hair for me. Don't you have any conditioner though?"

Masrur shakes his head. "Don't need it." His hair is considerably shorter than Sharrkan's, after all.

"My hair'll go static when I brush it now," Sharrkan says with a whine lacing his voice, handing the bottle of shampoo to Masrur, "conditioner stops that, y'know. Maybe that's why yours is so fuzzy." He reaches up behind himself to ruffle Masrur's short red hair cheerfully, his movements slower than usual considering his delicate state.

A jug of warm water being dumped over his head is the response he receives from the Fanalist; he yelps in shock, spitting water out as he blinks it out of his eyes. "What was that for, you dick?!" He demands. "A word of warning would have been nice!"

"Sorry." He's not.

Masrur squeezes a generous amount of shampoo onto the top of Sharrkan's head before he can argue back and begins to massage it into the wet white strands; the other general looks so different when his hair is flattened at the top by the water instead of sticking up like usual. He takes extra care to be as gentle as he can, reminding himself over and over that people are fragile, especially when hungover.

"This should help your hangover a bit too," Masrur says, fully knowledgeable in the art of alleviating hangovers, given how many times he and Ja'far have tended to their King's over the years. "And drink lots of water after the bath. Dehydration is why your head is hurting."

"I know that," Sharrkan waves his hand dismissively, leaning his head back into the bigger man's touch and shivering at the pleasurable sensations, "but this isn't the worst one I've had, y'know. I think my worst one was when I was 17, and Sinbad was way too liberal with the drink... Were you there? It was when we had that stopover at Qishan and we stayed in this really nice inn... I can barely remember it. All I know is that the next day I was so sick that Sinbad thought I had alcohol poisoning... I probably did, thinking about it."

"I wasn't there, but I heard about it from Ja'far." The corner of Masrur's mouth twitches at the memory of the irate ex-assassin pacing the room on their return, getting himself more and more worked up as he had described their King and fellow general's merrymaking and drunken idiocity. "He... Wasn't happy with you two."

Sharrkan snorts as more water is poured over his head, although much more carefully this time. "No, he wasn't. Still though, you can't help but want to wind him up a bit, right? But not too much, else he gets scary."

Masrur hums in agreement as he rinses Sharrkan's hair again, running his fingers through it as he does. "You shouldn't do it deliberately," he scolds gently, "he has enough to worry about without your antics adding to it."

"Oi, don't lecture me," Sharrkan elbows the bigger man in the thigh alongside his hip, "I'm your senior, don't forget that. You should say, 'Yes Lord Sharrkan, you're right Lord Sharrkan, I'll do anything you say Lord Sharrkan'."

"Right, right."

With speed that doesn't match his hungover state, Sharrkan twists his body round to face Masrur, frowning at him. "Are you patronising me?"

"I wouldn't do such a thing." Is the deadpan response. Sharrkan raises an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, you would."

"You're so mean, _Lord Sharrkan_."

Sharrkan gapes in surprise at his friend. "That actually sounds good," he says more seriously than Masrur would have thought he would, " say it again."

"No."

"Why not? God Mas, you never play along with me. You're such a boring guy after all."

Ignoring the jab at his entertainment skills, Masrur sets the jug on the floor beside the bath and straightens up, raising his arms over his head and arching his stiff back, his chest muscles pulling taut as he stretches, a slight groan escaping him as he does so. He can't help but note the look that passes over Sharrkan's features at this, the way he eyes up his pronounced muscles and their defined curves.

"What?" He asks, knowing full well 'what', but still not daring to _hope_.

Sharrkan swallows and blinks before slowly placing an open palm to Masrur's chest, letting it glide over the wide expanse of tight muscle. "You did that on purpose," he says softly, his other hand coming up to join in too, caressing firmly but gently at the same time, "that's a cruel move to pull, mate."

Sharrkan has never acted like this, as far as Masrur can remember. He's never shown any indication that he thinks the Fanalist is anything more than his closest friend, until now. He puts it down to the fact that when naked together you can't conceal anything, not even your thoughts.

It feels good having Sharrkan's hands touch him appreciatively, stroking over him like the other man has never seen a bare chest before. He closes his eyes to the feel of those tanned hands moving northwards, thumbing along his collarbones, dipping into their ridges before trailing along his shoulders, then back along to the curves of his neck. If he's honest with himself, which he usually isn't, he's wondered about situations with Sharrkan like this before. Honestly, it's just like how he's pictured it during his infrequent daydreams; Sharrkan trying to wind him up as usual, only to fail and to end up being the butt of the joke instead. It's _nice_, knowing for certain that in these situations they are still the same people, that they still have the same interpersonal relationship with either other, and that nothing fundamental has changed. Whats more, Masrur cant deny the sense of calm that has held him since waking up, the knowledge that he hasn't made a mistake in cuddling up to the other man before falling asleep, and that Sharrkan is _still _here, spending time with him, letting him touch him as he pleases.

It's as close to perfect as he's ever got with someone.

"I didn't do anything on purpose, I was merely stretching," Masrur says, unmoving, not reacting to the way Sharrkan is caressing him, "but _you _seem to be enjoying it more than you should."

Sharrkan raises an eyebrow at him. "You're not one for taking hints, are you, Mas?" He says unexpectantly. "'_More than I should?_' You still don't get it, do you? Bless you, you're actually really sweet under that Fanalis packaging, aren't you?"

That doesn't make any sense to him, other than the slight insult to his naivety there. Masrur frowns at the tanned man and catches his wrists in his hands, stilling his movements over his chest. "What do you mean by that?"

Sharrkan shrugs, grinning that _damned _grin of his that makes Masrur want to hit him. "You _actually _don't get it! You utter sweetheart, c'mere, lemme pinch your cheeks-"

He dodges as best he can in the confines of the bath tub as Sharrkan's fingers aim for his face, letting go of his wrists in the process to try and push the smaller man away. Water sloshes around them and over the sides as Sharrkan turns around fully at last, forgetting his delicate state as he lunges for Masrur, laughing at the expression on the Fanalist's face.

"Don't look so pissed off!" He laughs, sliding up close between Masrur's legs now as their bare chests slide together, his wrists caught once again and held fast parallel with his shoulders, "OK, I'll tell you! Think about this for a second - why do you think I'm always sleeping next to you?"

That doesn't even need thinking about. "Because my room is easier to get to when you're drunk," Masrur says flatly. Sharrkan shakes his head.

"No, you tit; if that were the reason I'd kick you out and have you sleep on the floor."

"You could try, but-"

"Shush. Listen to me. I deliberately come looking for you when you're not around so that we can sleep together. I follow you everywhere, I annoy you on purpose for your attention, I _like _being with you because I _like you_." Sharrkan's gone red now, frowning slightly in a defensive manner, as if daring Masrur to laugh at him. "I got so drunk last night because I was going to tell you then, but I took it too far, as usual, and couldn't tell you anything."

Masrur is suddenly acutely aware of their position after Sharrkan's confession; the tanned man is practically lying on him as he leans against the back of the bath, their chests flush together and their hips-

He swallows thickly, looking up at the ceiling and praying that Sharrkan doesn't notice that they're a fraction away from rubbing together _far _too intimately.

"That's... Nice." He says lamely; admitting he feels the same way doesn't appear to be an option right now, not when he's concentrating on _not moving at all_, willing himself not to react as Sharrkan moves against him.

"_Nice_?" Sharrkan repeats incredulously, expecting something, _anything _else from the bigger man. "Is that it? I just told you I like you and you think that's _nice_? How many other people do you get into baths with and have flail naked against you, then? Is it just a normal occurrence for you to have people admit they're gay for you?"

"Don't move," Masrur orders, his shoulders stiff and his hands holding Sharrkan tight as one of his tanned thighs presses against the Fanalist's (thankfully limp) member; Masrur bites his lip in concentration, willing himself not to harden at the firm press.

Sharrkan's frown deepens. "What is _with _you?" He asks, trying to free his wrists from his friend's grip but only making it worse.

"Your leg is... Rubbing against me."

It takes a second or two for him to realise what Masrur means - gradually, a dark blush blooms over his cheeks as he understands, his eyes widening slightly as Masrur looks at him now, his expression almost guilty.

"... Oh."

* * *

**A/N**: This was originally intended to be the second chapter of The Finest Of Wines, and was just over 5,000 words before I cut it down and removed anything sexual, changing it to this more fluffy thing you see here. Hope you enjoy!


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